That’s when his expression cracked.
“What?” he snapped.
The screen behind the altar flickered on.
Spreadsheets.
Transaction logs.
Photos.
Ethan entering hotels.
Leaving casinos.
Signing documents tied to debts.
Vanessa stepping into frame beside him.
Time-stamped. Verified.
Undeniable.
“This is insane,” Ethan barked. “She was sick—she didn’t know what she was saying—”
Lena’s voice cut through him.
Clear. Calm. Unshaken.
“I knew exactly what I was saying.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
“I also knew,” she continued, “about the substances in my system. The ones that didn’t get there by accident.”
A ripple of horror spread through the room.
Vanessa staggered back a step.
Ethan’s face drained.
“You see,” Lena said, almost gently, “it’s amazing how much you can discover when people assume you’re too weak to look.”
Claire handed documents to a detective waiting near the aisle.
Toxicology reports.
Financial audits.
Signed statements.
Ethan tried to laugh.
It came out wrong.
“This is a setup—she was paranoid—”
“She was precise,” Claire corrected.
Then came the final blow.
“The entire estate,” Claire said, “has been transferred into a charitable foundation.”
She turned a page.